


Hands

by XxOngakuxX



Series: Smoking Room [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Dodgy knowledge at best, Domestic Fluff, Hair Dye, M/M, Prompt Fill, You decide if it's JohnLock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2019-04-16 01:15:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14153484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XxOngakuxX/pseuds/XxOngakuxX
Summary: "Sherlock? Why are your hands purple?"





	Hands

**Author's Note:**

> This is an entry for a prompt fill. It's stand alone. Has not been read through. There's not much of an ending, but the main prompt has been filled. Enjoy.

John stood on the landing just in front of the living room door to 221B, rubbing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. He had  _ hoped _ that he could come home after a long day of work and have a bit of a cuppa and a nice day. He had hoped for some crap telly and take away. He wasn’t even in the flat yet and he could smell the strong order of chemicals. It didn’t seem toxic, ammonia and sulfur perhaps, but it was undeniably chemical and annoyingly strong. He tried to take a deep breath, ignoring the smell, and counted to ten to call down his already keyed up nerves. 

John was prepared for the worst, one can never be quite sure what to expect when one lives with Sherlock Holmes after all, but when he looked around the sitting room, nothing seemed different. Everything seemed to be in place, more or less, from when he had left. The windows were now open, probably to help with the smell, but other than that nothing seemed amiss. The big oaf of a consulting detective no longer lay on the couch, but that wasn’t surprising. John heard the sink in the kitchen running, presuming he was the one making the noise, and resigned himself to the mess that was surely all over the kitchen. He slipped off his jacket, hanging it up in its rightful place, and toed off his shoes; wanting to take his time before he had to see the mess of the kitchen.

The moment he stood in the entryway to the kitchen, he could see the source of the smell. A few styrofoam heads sat in the middle of the cleared table, bin bags covering the top in order to product the wood. Each head had a wig on it, each freshly dyed various colors. There were bowls of hair dye in front of each one, as well as a comb for dying hair. It was far from the oddest thing he had ever seen on their table. There was a pair of black discarded gloves tossed onto the table as well. In front of each wig was a paper with a smear and the name of the color. Looking up, John could see Sherlock standing at the sink. He presumed him to be washing his hands, as neither of them particularly found of doing dishes until they either began to smell or they were out of mugs. 

“What’s with the wigs? For a case?” John asked, peering closer at the wigs. He couldn’t think of any recent cases that depended on wigs, hair color, or anything of the sort. Though, it’s not like Sherlock shares all his ideas about a case and it could just be something not worth leaving the flat for. You never knew with Sherlock.

“They’re for disguises I’m working on,” came Sherlock’s reply. It wasn’t really a surprise that Sherlock would be dying some wigs for some sort of disguise. John had seen Sherlock in all sorts of disguises. 

John stood up straight and started towards Sherlock’s back. He seemed to be taking awhile to wash his hands, much longer than necessary. When he came around to Sherlock’s side, he gave pause. “Sherlock?” He questioned, staring down at this his hands under the water. “Why are your hands purple?” He could have sworn he had seen some gloves on the table. A glance back confirmed what he thought he saw. 

“ _ That _ is a good question.” Sherlock grit his teeth, clearly annoyed. He scrubbed harder, almost as if he could get the purple dye off with sheer power of will. 

“Gloves didn’t work then?” John asked, causing Sherlock to glare at him out of the corner of his eye. John was barely able to contain a smile as he pulled out his phone. It took him only a few moments, in which Sherlock had given up and started to dry his hands on a kitchen towel. 

“Do we have any olive oil?” John asked, spilling his phone back into his trouser pocket and starting to dig around the kitchen for the bottle he thought they had. It took just a moment before John found the olive oil in one of the cabinets. He also grabbed a pair of disposable gloves Sherlock kept in a drawer for experiments. Sherlock watched John, brows knit in confusion the whole time. 

“Turns out, there’s a few ways to get dye off of skin. One of them you’ve already tried, scrubbing away the layer of dead skin. Another one is soaking your hands in olive oil. Something about the proteins help break up the dye. You’ve got to keep them covered for a bit, it seems. They said overnight is best, but at least six hours.” John turned to face Sherlock, holding the gloves and the oil. 

“Six hours?” Sherlock asked, incredulous. “You must be joking. How am I supposed to do anything with oil all over my hands, John?” He held his hands out, as if to make the point that they would be useless covered in oil. 

“Hence the gloves.” John uncapped the olive oil and gave Sherlock an expectant look. After a moment and a stare down Sherlock let John drizzle olive oil onto his hands. He rubbed the oil over his hands, making sure to try and rub it in over where the dye was. John held open one glove and helped Sherlock slip his hand in one and then the other. “Try not to get oil over everything, yeah?” John said, tugging to make sure the gloves were properly on before heading towards the kettle. 

After only two hours of Sherlock complaining about needing to wear the gloves, how he can’t do anything and John gave in. He ripped the gloves off his hands and told him to go wash them, throwing the gloves in the bin. He heard Sherlock complaining about getting the oil off as he came up behind him to see if it had helped at all. Oddly enough, the color was slightly lighter in shade, but still there. 

“Looks like you’re just going to need to give it time,” John said as Sherlock dried his hands.

“Well, at least they’re soft,” Sherlock grumbled, looking down at his own hands. 

“Yes, well, at least there’s that.” John rolled his eyes and walked back towards the living room to finish his book. He wasn’t sure why he had been expecting a thank you for helping. Perhaps next time he wouldn’t be so careless about using hair dye. 


End file.
